Faith
by Aileen O'Neill
Summary: Prompt taking place somewhere during S2. "He doesn't wince when the bitter drink burns his throat. He has gotten used to it. He welcolmes it. He is not able to think clearly anymore, but he still feels. Feeling is not something he wants tonight. No, what he wants is to be so numb he would stop feeling the pain that plagues his mind."


Faith

His hand clutches the half empty bottle, brings it to his lips once more. Several others lay disregarded at his feet ; he doesn't know how long he has been sitting here, alone in the dark of the night. He doesn't wince when the bitter drink burns his throat. He has gotten used to it. He welcolmes it. He is not able to think clearly anymore, but he still feels. Feeling is not something he wants tonight. No, what he wants is to be so numb he would stop feeling the pain that plagues his mind. To be nothing more than an empty shell. They would not let him.

They, the too many people he sees every time he dares lay on his bed. He recognizes some, the rest are unknown, blaming faces. The worst, however, the worst is not one of them. The worst is a person, following his every move. He sees her walking through the camp, sitting on a chair in his quarters or standing by his side in the council room. Bloody face. Empty eyes. Brown, much like his own. She daunts him. He knows she is nothing more than a product of his tormented mind, but she scares him. She is the guilt that takes his heart and enslaves his head. He can't take it anymore.

He is tired. Tired of fighting, of surviving. His eyelids are half closed, he keeps staring at one spot on the floor. The one that made him avoid this room at first. The one that made him come here in the middle of a restless sleep with a few stolen bottles of moonshine. To drink his heart out. The moon provides enough light for him to see the dried blood. It is everywhere but he focuses on one single stain.

He doesn't feel the tears that slowly make their way down his reddened cheeks as her body appears in front of him. Her lifeless body. Her head is turned towards him, eyes open, blood dripping from her mouth. His breathing comes in ragged gasps, he shivers. He sips one last time then angrily throws the bottle over the room, one harsh movement. It shatters in pieces, the noise echoing, breaking the overwhelming silence.

He plays with the idea of picking up one of the largest shards. An easy way to end his pain. An easy way out. The coward way. That's what he always thought. Only now he realizes it takes far more courage than he is able to muster. He draws his legs to his chest, head in his arms. He knows she is still here, he can smell her. The comforting scent from his childhood mixed with the nauseating one from a dead body. He tastes salt in his mouth. He shakes, fights for control. His nails dig into his palms. He doesn't register the pain. A frightening but also welcoming thought comes to his mind. He throws his head back against the wall. Dizziness overcomes him and this time the stinging pain is here.

''What the... Marcus !''

He doesn't need to open his eyes to know whose voice it is, he does so nonetheless. Abby hurries by his side, kneels and cups his face in her hands. The touch of her skin is warm and soft, he leans into it. Her thumbs swip the tears away, gentle.

''I'm a mess.''

He whispers, his voice wavering. She doesn't deny it but gets closer and wraps an arm around his shoulders. He comforts in her embrace, gets his breathing under control. After a moment she asks :

''What happened ?''

He doesn't want to talk. He won't be able to explain as he has trouble figuring it out himself. His thoughts aren't coherent enough. Instead, he opens his eyes and looks again towards _the_ blood stain.

''Oh.''

 _Her_ body is still here. He remembers the feeling of her trembling hand in his, him struggling to get his dry mouth working. May we meet again. He remembers stumbling on the words as her pleading eyes bore through his naked soul. The metal piece sticking out of her stomach, the distant screams of the injured...

Sadness strickes him again. The simple thought of her makes his eyes water. She has been his only constant in life, the only one who never gave up on him. Now she is gone, like so many others, and he is responsible for this. All these useless deaths...his fault.

She should have been here, she deserved it way more than him. She should have planted the Eden Tree on the ground, should have breathed the smell of nature, should have seen the sun rise above the forest.

''I will have someone clean this room tomorrow.''

She squeezes his shoulder. He doesn't understand why she insists on staying with him, why she is so persistent to help him. He nods slightly, all of a sudden feeling terribly stupid. He is supposed to be their leader, the strong one. Right now he only is...

''… weak...''

Abby's violent reaction startles him. The word escaped his lips and he already regrets it. She doesn't need to be burdened, tainted, by his dark, destructive thoughts. She quickly gets up and looks down at him.

''Come on, let's get you out of here.''

Her voice is stern, her face unreadable while she helps him to his feet. The process is long, he fights the urge to throw up and almost falls tripping on one of the bottles. Finally he manages to stand upright, Abby guiding him through the corridors.

Her silence frightens him more than anything else. She is upset. Will he one day stop hurting the people he cares about ? He doesn't want to lose her too. He _can't_. Guilt consumes him, eats him fron the inside. He walks beside her. He doesn't know where she's taking him, doesn't care. He will do anything to take the pain away, to feel whole again. Abby will. She takes him outside on a small hill. They sit.

He tries to speak several times, say something to break the awkwardness. He fails every time, his mouth closing before any sound can make its way out. Words aren't, never were, his strength. Now more than ever, with the considerable amount of alcohol in his veins. He forces himself to breathe evenly, to chase away the thoughts of his mother, how she has always been able to see right through him and come up with the exact sentence that would make him feel better.

''Weakness is not about breaking down. Weakness is not about failing nor is it about crying. You are far from being weak, Marcus. You have every right to be sad about the death of a loved one, the most important thing is not to give up. It's easy to give up hope in those moments of darkness, but then all you have to do is remember what is worth fighting for. Vera never gave up her faith. Her faith in Earth, in the Ark, and in you. Hang on to it.''

He hides his face in his hands, ashamed of his previous behavior, feeling like a selfish idiot. She smiles slightly while taking his shivering hands in hers.

''Altough drinking until you can't remember your name and smashing your head against a wall aren't the brightest of ideas.''

With that, she leans forward and pecks him on the lips.


End file.
